


Amongst The Leaves

by jetpackcoolguy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Modern Witch AU, Witch AU, and iwaizumi?? sweetest iwaizumi is a wolf turned human, oikawa is a sorcerer and mattsun and makki are witches, plant witch au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 18:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6577861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetpackcoolguy/pseuds/jetpackcoolguy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, Makki-chan,” Oikawa’s expression morphs into one of gentle sympathy, “Aoba Forest is very big, and she has a mind of her own. Maybe you weren’t meant to meet until now.”</p><p>Hanamaki lowers his eyes, now feeling embarrassed about how eager he had come across. Laying graceful fingers against Hanamaki’s cheek, Oikawa whispers, “You feel a connection with that witch, don’t you? His name is Matsukawa Issei, and believe me - he’s been looking for you, too.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amongst The Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> This work was made for Cat's birthday, and it was inspired by her gorgeous concept for a modern plant witch au, in which Hanamaki can only bloom and Matsukawa can only bud (http://catfeindraws.tumblr.com/post/140631502545/modern-witch-au-matsukawa-who-can-only-bud-and)
> 
> If you haven't already, please go follow her, because her work is just beautiful and she's lovely.
> 
> I myself have also made fanart for this particular au on my tumblr here: http://freshseijou.tumblr.com/post/140744250060/matsukawa-and-hanamaki-from-cats-gorgeous-modern

If you're travelling - not going anywhere in particular, with no one to miss and no one to miss you - you might happen upon a curious forest. There, situated on the border of nowhere and in the valley of never-been, it rests in an eternal spring, never yielding to the annual happenings of the seasons and seemingly possessing a mind of its own.

Aoba Forest.

It owes its genesis, its very existence, to the accumulation of powerful magic from the stars, whereupon with an almighty feat of determination it pushed itself from the soil to reach with open arms towards the sunlight, ever growing, ever flourishing.

To an innocent onlooker, it may seem for all the world a normal forest, but you - you know better, don't you? You might sense something is amiss, might notice the way the nebulous cloud of magic rests thick and tangible amongst the evergreen, holding in suspension dust motes and sparrows alike.

Here lives a witch - no family or material possessions to his name - who makes an unassuming life for himself amongst the trees. Borne of the celestial enchantment, he is tethered to the forest's life force, a manifestation of its power in a human. He is more witch than human, however, living alone amongst the trees in untroubled isolation. Thus we come to a certain chapter in his life, nineteen years into his existence, where within his soul stirs an unfamiliar longing...

❀ ❀ ❀

_There he is again._

_The one with the buds and shoots._

_But no flowers._

Hanamaki eyes the mysterious figure from his vantage point in the trees, partially obscured by a curtain of viridian. The sections of trunk that he rests his slender hands upon are blooming, flowers burgeoning from where his green-stained fingertips clutch the rough bark. Absentmindedly, he lowers his face to his right hand and presses his nose into the sweet blossoms, chuckling quietly as the delicate petals uncurl at his touch, presenting their velvety complexions as yet more new blossoms push their way through the gaps between his long fingers. 

Returning his attention to the sight on the ground before him, he cocks his head curiously, ignoring the indignant rustling of the lilies and powder pink carnations growing at the base of his neck and behind his ears. He presumes the tall, wiry person below to be a witch like himself, judging by the magical aura emanating from his being. Hanamaki longs to see this other witch's face, but he wears a large, drooping straw hat, and all Hanamaki can glimpse is the curly tufts of dark hair licking at the man's temples. What he can perceive very clearly, however, is the state of the other's hands as he wanders amongst the trees as though in a daze, languidly dragging his touch across the mossy trunks. Just as Hanamaki's hands are wont to bloom wherever they land, so do this other witch's hands with buds. Shoots curl from the spots he touches, forming buds but never blooming. These same buds meander down his forearms and the backs of his large hands, appearing to follow the patterns of his veins. 

_He can only bud and I can only bloom_ , Hanamaki observes, wistfully fingering the wide petals of a dusky purple rose nestled in his palm. No matter how hard he tries, he has never been able to produce anything beyond flowers and a few meagre thorny stalks. Likewise, the mysterious man's buds seem to stop just short of blooming, ending in closed-off buds, destined to never produce any colours other than varying shades of green. 

Hanamaki's eyes are drawn back towards the now retreating figure of the other witch. His clothes are thin, rough black tunic hanging from broad shoulders, and a vivid aquamarine scarf draped over his arms, looped around his lower back and ends trailing along the forest floor. His feet are bare, causing sprouts to burst forth wherever he steps. More shoots radiate across the skin of his neck, visible from beneath the low neckline of the tunic. Hanamaki suddenly finds himself averting his eyes, cheeks heating up, dusted in a pink matching his hair. 

_Why?_

_Why do I want to run my fingers along his veins? Why do I want to imbue my flowers with his magic? Why do I want to feel him?_

He silently leaps down from his perch on the tree; leaving behind no trace of his being other than the gossamer blooms gently fluttering in the breeze. 

❀ ❀ ❀

Footsteps muffled by fallen leaves, Hanamaki weaves his way down the path to Oikawa's dwelling. Being a sorcerer and the guardian of the enchanted Aoba Forest, Oikawa Tooru's home is constantly shifting, fluctuating to fit the flow of magic in the woods. Closing his eyes and giving in to the forest, Hanamaki lets himself be guided to wherever Oikawa is. 

He needs to talk to his old friend. 

"Makki-chan!" Oikawa's lilting voice breaks his magic-induced reverie, and he cracks open his eyes, wincing at the sudden burst of light. This time, Oikawa's dwelling is situated in a wide-open, grassy clearing, flaxen-gold sunlight streaming through the canopy and dappling him in silky, transparent green. Oikawa himself is flitting around the meadow, humming to himself and distilling the sunlight into small, glittering bottles, before using his wand to float the bottles into a stack. 

"Why are you doing this?" Hanamaki asks, crouching by the stack and tapping a finger against a bottle. He watches the sunlight essence swirl lackadaisically behind the glass. 

With laughter like a summer's breeze, Oikawa throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder to where Hanamaki squats, "Oh, just to save for a cloudy day!"

Surrounded by a growing ring of hydrangeas and chrysanthemums, Hanamaki smiles fondly. As always, Oikawa's voice rings clear and sweet, words a honeyed cadence and laughter the silvery tinkling of raindrops on a river. Watching Oikawa's long legs as he moves around, Hanamaki leans up as Oikawa crouches to press a kiss to his lips before bouncing back up with a giggle. 

Letting his eyes roam lazily across the clearing, Hanamaki spies Iwaizumi, the wolf turned human. Iwaizumi lies curled up on the grass, chest slowly moving up and down with the deep breaths of a peaceful slumber. His black tail is tucked next to his legs and his ears twitch imperceptibly from where they sit nestled in his messy shock of dark hair. With a soft whine, he stretches, rolls over, and goes back to sleep. Hanamaki notices Oikawa watching this charming display with a tender affection in his eyes so different from the scintillating maelstrom usually found there. He acknowledges that although Oikawa kisses him frequently - kisses lots of people frequently - his heart and soul belong wholly to Iwaizumi Hajime. 

In the dazzling sunlight, Hanamaki can see Oikawa's willowy frame outlined from beneath the airy white shirt he wears, notes the way the black trousers hug his slim hips, and can't help but envy Iwaizumi slightly. True, he has felt Oikawa's warm lips against his own, but it is Iwaizumi who gets to hold those hips close every night; Iwaizumi who gets to run his hands through that lustrous, windswept hair; Iwaizumi whom Oikawa shares his innermost spirit with. 

_Do I really want Oikawa, though?_ Hanamaki muses, _or do I just want someone to share my life with?_

He doesn't think he's lonely. He's always been content to roam Aoba Forest's endless depths alone, once in a while dropping in on Oikawa and Iwaizumi. It's not isolation; he has his flowers that grow perpetually, has the whisper of the trees. But ever since he had caught his first fleeting glimpse of that other witch a few weeks ago, he has found himself filled with an unfamiliar and altogether unwelcome sense of loneliness. 

"Makki-chan, is everything okay?" A blur of chestnut hair suddenly fills his vision and Hanamaki yelps, falling backwards into his flowers. 

Scowling, Hanamaki stands up and replies, "Yeah, fine. But I need to ask you something."

"Anything!"

"Alright. I need you to help me... identify someone? I suppose." Hanamaki rubs the back of his neck, a nervous tick. 

Oikawa scrutinises him carefully, before cheerfully replying, "Oh, it'll be no problem, I'm sure. I know everyone in this forest."

Hanamaki raises an eyebrow, "Really? This person is really elusive." 

"It's true! Scepticism duly noted, though; don't you trust me, Makki-chan?" Oikawa's voice rises in a singsong tone at the end. "Anyway, describe them to me." 

Watching a new bloom form on the inside of his wrist, Hanamaki tries recalling what he remembers about how the other witch looked, "Tall. He was taller than me - and his shoulders were really wide. I think he has curly hair, but it was hard to tell because he was wearing this ridiculous floppy hat - "

Oikawa giggles breathily. 

"- Oh, and he had a long, bright blue scarf. Brighter than this geranium right here. Brighter than any flower."

He pauses to think while Oikawa hums contemplatively, reorganising his bottles of sunlight.

"Then there was his magic. It's as though he's the exact opposite of me. The only plants he creates are shoots and buds. Nothing else. They're all over his hands, and it looks like they come from his veins."  
Hanamaki hides behind his own hands, burying his face in the fragrant, velvety petals nestled there. 

"He's a plant witch just like you," Oikawa waves his wand, causing the snowbells at his feet to bloom, "he, too, grew up in isolation and has very unstable magic. In most respects he and you are very similar."

"Then why haven't I seen him around?" _And why haven't you mentioned him before?_ Hanamaki wants to continue, slightly wounded.

"Oh, Makki-chan," Oikawa's expression morphs into one of gentle sympathy, "Aoba Forest is very big, and she has a mind of her own. Maybe you weren't _meant_ to meet until now."

Hanamaki lowers his eyes, now feeling embarrassed about how eager he had come across. Laying graceful fingers against Hanamaki's cheek, Oikawa whispers, "You feel a connection with that witch, don't you? His name is Matsukawa Issei, and believe me - he's been looking for you, too." 

Hope spreads through Hanamaki's chest, warm and electric. 

" _Matsukawa Issei_ ," he murmurs, tasting the name on his tongue, savouring its magic between his teeth. Beaming contentedly, Oikawa plucks a crimson rose from Hanamaki's hair before bounding over to Iwaizumi and placing it behind a satiny, pointed ear

❀ ❀ ❀

It has been a week (more or less - time is difficult to discern in Aoba Forest) since Hanamaki has talked to Oikawa, and even longer than that since he's glimpsed the other witch - Matsukawa. 

_What an apt name_ , Hanamaki thinks to himself wryly, _as is mine_. 

As he watches the night sky in all its twinkling grandeur, he humbles himself from the immediacy of existence. Oikawa, being the forest's guardian, is essentially immortal. As long as the forest lives, so too does he. 

_And what of Iwaizumi, then_? A small voice in his mind echoes. Would Oikawa just be left behind when Iwaizumi's time came? Had Oikawa already found a way to make his lover immortal, too? Mind working through these ruminations, Hanamaki decides he needn't be disheartened by illusions of sempiternity. Things are okay the way they are, he can take his existence ( _and what a fine existence!_ ) as it is, abiding by nature and when his time does come - so be it. He will not fight. 

Hanamaki falls asleep not long after, drifting off into a fitful slumber, riddled with swirling fractals of thick, curly hair and the longest eyelashes, just hidden by the wide, drooping brim of a mossy straw hat. His feet, seemingly with a mind of their own, bring him towards this man - so strange yet so achingly familiar. 

_Gasping, Hanamaki lets himself melt for the warm hands encircling his hips, arches as he relishes in the shoots and tendrils creeping over his back, sparking heat across his flushed skin._

A pair of lips, against his neck - 

A thumb, trailing the line of his jaw - 

And above all, those buds, entwining through his hair - 

He awakens with a jolt, groaning at the persistent twinge in his temples, the dull pressure behind his eyes as intense sunlight overpowers him. There is a brief moment of unpleasant disorientation before he realises he'd fallen asleep. He doesn't like sleeping, because although it occurs rarely, when he does slip into slumber it can last for days at a time. He has no inkling whatsoever as to how long he'd been dormant, but can hazard a rough guess judging by how much he's overgrown. Muttering to himself in irritation, he shakes his arm loose of the accumulation of blossoms binding him to the forest floor and struggles for a moment to squirm his way out of the veritable garden engulfing him. He estimates he'd been out cold for perhaps four or so days. 

Rolling his tense shoulders and stretching out his aching back, he lifts his face towards the crisp breeze caressing his sleep-warmed cheeks, a welcome sensation after the grogginess of his extended slumber. Hanamaki sighs dreamily as the cool wind ruffles his hair, lifting up the cropped, feathery locks. Shaking off the final dregs of dissipating drowsiness, he crouches to tend to the flowers he'd left behind upon waking. Ever so gently, he leans in and presses his lips to a particularly small peach blossom and smiles as it bursts forth with life, delicate stamen swaying and blushing petals dancing. 

Suddenly, his ears twitch. 

The sound of a cracking twig emanates from somewhere nearby and, startled, he bolts to clutch on to the nearest tree, his fear causing the blossoms along his arms to tremble and wilt. He's so used to solitariness when he's not with Oikawa and Iwaizumi that he can go for days in complete silence other than the general tranquil yet dampened sounds that Aoba Forest produces - suffused with the heavy, treacly blanket of magic as it is. The noise he had heard was beyond the scope of what he is used to and so, heart quivering in his throat, he eyes the general vicinity whence he reckons it to have originated. 

"Are you Hanamaki?" 

Upon hearing an unfamiliar voice, Hanamaki cries out in surprise, desperately glancing around for its owner. 

"I'm sorry - I didn't mean to startle you," comes the same voice, deep and quiet, but hoarse from disuse. Hanamaki's mouth clamps shut, heart rate decreasing considerably at the sight of a length of aquamarine cloth and the brim of a wide hat. _Oh!_

Hesitantly - a little shyly - the other man steps towards Hanamaki, cautiously avoiding letting his foot fall into a small fairy ring nestled in the dew-kissed grass. Blinking owlishly, Hanamaki lets himself calm down as he scrutinises him, drinking in the sight desperately. Matsukawa's skin is dark, and his finely sculpted nose is sprinkled with sparse freckles, a result of his lifetime under the sun's loving caress. Silently, he reaches up and removes his hat. Hanamaki eyes the buds sprouting from where his fingertips clutch the brim. 

Looking back up at his face, Hanamaki finds himself suddenly enraptured, falling into those emerald depths. Matsukawa's eyes are heavily lidded, the sleepy weight added to by the long, dark lashes that cast delicate shadows along his cheekbones. 

He looks towards the ground as he says, "I'm Matsukawa, but you can call me Issei."

"I'm Takahiro," Hanamaki detaches himself from the tree, barely managing to remember his own name in the presence of the other. 

At this, Issei blushes faintly, the word "Takahiro" quietly falling from his lips. Hanamaki finds himself overwhelmed, and neither of them speaks. This silence stretches into minutes. Eventually, Hanamaki looks up, taking a step towards Issei. He holds his hand out in front of him, relieved when he gets the message and gently places his palm against Hanamaki's. They both stare, enraptured, as shoots and flowers entwine at the meeting of their skin, and all of a sudden Hanamaki is hit with a sudden heady wave of affection. Slowly, Issei slots his fingers through the gaps between Hanamaki's, watching as blooms are displaced by buds, as petals dance along the backs of knuckles. Laughing into the onslaught of sensation, Hanamaki marvels at the small things in life - the feeling of not being alone; guidance from a friend; and having the space to grow, bud, bloom.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks to himself as Issei grins brighter than the sun, shoots curling up the sides of his neck and swaying joyfully in the breeze, _I'll be just fine_.


End file.
